the terrible vengeance

At the hour when the sunset is fading and the stars have not yet appeared, the moon does not shine, but it is already frightening to walk in the forest: unbaptized children clamber up the trees, clutching at the branches; they sob, guffaw, roll in a tangle on the road and in the spreading nettles; maidens who destroyed their souls run out of the Dnieper's waves one after another; the hair streams from their green heads onto their shoulders, water runs loudly burbling down their long hair onto the ground; and a maiden shines through the a water as though a shirt of glass; her lips smile strangely, her cheeks flush, her eyes lure one's soul out . . . she would burn up with love, she would kiss you to death . . . Flee, Christian man! her mouth is ice, her bed the cold water; she will tickle you all over and drag you into the river.